The story they never told
by Uniquely Matanuska
Summary: It's really very hard to say without giving it away. It's just getting started, it's good though, I swear.


"Fuck, you're hot when you're angry." Elliot half growls, half whispers, as he reaches for her.

He grabs her, one hand on her arm, the other in her hair, and turns her to face him, just before ravaging her mouth with his own. She only fights him a little, because as angry as she is, she wants him to take what he wants from her. She's willing to give him anything. She loves the endless hours of fucking, of aggression, of love-hate sex. And as he once again takes from her, takes all the things she has always wanted to give him, she can't remember why she was angry in the first place.

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Six weeks ago

She's sitting at her desk, across from him, just like every other day of her life for the past ten years. He picks up his mug, never taking his eyes off of the paper in front of him. He sips his coffee, grimaces, sets it back down. She wonders why he drinks it. She's not. She doesn't trust it. She doesn't trust anything brought into being by one John Munch. Which is funny to her, in that he doesn't trust anything at all. Maybe they have something in common after all. Lack of trust.

He doesn't trust the government. She doesn't trust him. He doesn't trust the justice system. Neither does she, really. He doesn't trust anyone else to get the job done right. She doesn't trust herself to do it right, without Elliot.

And we're back on Elliot. Elliot, Elliot, Elliot. Always Elliot. It all comes back to him. She loves him, she admits that to herself. How can she not? Who can possibly lie to themselves? Only fools would think such a thing is possible.

In moments of weakness, she stares at him. Like she's doing now. She finds that she has been weak a lot more often these days. She remembers when she first started working SVU. Remember that she never got the urge to look at him for so long. He hardly ever crossed her mind. He was cute. Sexy. Probably a good lay. She only thought about it once. Two days before noticing the ring on his left finger. How she hadn't noticed it before, she doesn't know.

Elliot speaks and she's not sure what he said, but she knows he was talking to her. She looks up at him, that questioning look on her face. The one that says "Repeat?" He does.

"Any plans for tonight?" He takes another sip from his mug.

"No. Plans don't happen to me, Elliot." She sighs, looking forlorn.

"Would you mind terribly if I thrust my plans upon you?" He smiles.

And she's stuck on "thrust." Lingering there.

"Um, what did you have in mind?" She asks, but she's not really looking at him.

Her vision is slightly blurred and she's staring over his right shoulder.

"Anything. I'm just not ready to go home yet. I need a few more hours."

* * *

They're still driving, and she's not exactly happy about that. She needs her space. He gets to her, and she finds it happens more often when they're in a confined space together. But they're still driving and she's almost glad. She misses him during the night, and she not ready for that feeling. Not yet. So she stays quiet, afraid that any sound could make him realize what time it is, and she'll end up back at her apartment in a matter of minutes. Silence has always been good to her.

"You up for a drink or two?"

He's speaking and she's only half listening. She hears him, but doesn't answer for almost a minute. Then she looks at him, her lips turned up in some semblance of a smile.

"Of course." She tells him.

* * *

They sit there, three drinks in, talking intermittently about stupid things. Things that don't matter at all, let alone in the grand scheme of things. He's pretty sure they should leave before they end up sloshed with no memory of which way is home. He finishes his drink, throws a couple bills down and grabs his coat without even checking if she's ready to leave. She follows, leaving her drink at the bar. They step outside and it isn't as cold as either of them had expected.

They start walking towards her apartment, keeping an eye out for a cab. The streets are completely bare of any human lifeforms, except them, and it's not that weird. They only have to walk two blocks before a cab turns onto their street, and Elliot waves it down for them. He opens the door and gestures for her to get in. She does, and he follows. It's a quick ride, they're less than four blocks away now.

* * *

Olivia pays for the cab, it's the least she can do, and hurries to the door. Elliot isn't far behind and, as she opens the door, she leans against it to let him pass. He always wondered why she does that. Opens the door for him, when clearly she is the lady here. He doesn't ask.

They take the stairs up to her apartment, not all that determined to get there. They finally arrive at her front door and she lets them in.

* * *

After only a few moments, Olivia decides that maybe she isn't done drinking after all. She heads to the kitchen for her whiskey. She pours herself a glass and then thinks Elliot will probably want some as well. So she pours him a glass too. She forgot to refill the tray of ice, so they'll have to do without. They drink and drink, and she's starting to feel like she should slow down. Elliot feels good, like nothing really matters anymore. No matter what, everything will be okay.

And then he remembers that it won't, because his wife is leaving him, and she's taking the kids. He'll never see them again. She'll make sure of that. He almost wants to talk about it, but he doesn't. It's not the kind of thing you tell your partner. Even if you're far closer to her than you should be. Even if sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and you can't remember what you had just been dreaming about, but her name dances through your head. Maybe especially then.

"It's Kathy, isn't it?" Olivia asks.

Elliot is only half surprised, she could always read him. He nods.

"I'm sure it'll work out, El.." And she hangs her head, looking up at him through her hair, at a sort of angle.

"Things might work out, but I've always known it would never work out with her at my side in the end. We're too different. I don't understand what she wants from me. She doesn't understand that I don't want anything from her." So much for not talking about it. He leans back on her couch and settles in for a long discussion.

"Love?" She shrugs.

"Once upon a time. Now I just keep hoping that it'll all be over soon. Is that wrong? To just give up like that?" His brow furrows and he shifts a little so he can see her face.

"I don't know. Not married, remember?" She smiles a bit, lets it die on her lips.

"Right." He leans his head back again.

"Want me to beat 'er up for you?" She jokes.

"Would you please?" He laughs.

They fall into along silence and he thinks he should pick a different subject before that's the one they're stuck on all night. He thinks and doesn't come up with anything.

She shifts in her seat, tucking her right leg up under her. "So, what do you have planned for the weekend?" And it's unlike her to be so merciful towards him. He's grateful.


End file.
